There You Were
by silverkittyn
Summary: A oneshot series featuring Harry and Draco. Some fics sexually themed, some not. Some dark, some fluffy. Read at your own discretion.
1. There You Were

"There You Were"

There was a special blade, his favorite blade.

It was no ordinary razor blade, like you might see in a sewing room. It was a crafted into an angle and set into a pen-like handle; it even came with a nifty cap to protect the user when the blade wasn't in use. This blade was designed for artistic or similarly creative job, but he tailored it to his own purposes.

He gripped the slender blue handle in his right hand, tracing delicate lines onto the underside of his left arm. He did nothing more than leave those faint white marks upon his skin, not yet ready to draw blood. For what seemed an eternity, he merely drew fanciful designs and meaningful words. But then, his grip changed.

His fingers curled around the slim cylinder, holding it as though it were a pencil. The artist was ready to begin. He pressed the blade's tip a twisting shape and drew it along the outline. The process was repeated numerous times, until the image was resolutely cut into his arm.

But he would not stop there. He persisted until a fine groove was carved there, and then he continued so that blood oozed from that thin channel in his flesh. Satisfied, the boy lifted his tool and set it to a new place. This time, he chose a word. A blazing red path eventually scrolled across the pale canvas, melting seamlessly into the curling shape he had previously etched. Hate.

His upper lids sank to meet their lower companions and the dark fringe of lashes brushed tenderly against his skin. He breathed a delicate sigh of contentment, images of his fresh wounds passing before his closed eyes. Years of frustration had culminated until he had found this method of release. Ease came only after pain.

But the transition between the two was interrupted; the door to the room swung open and his eyes immediately opened. As he sat on the hard, cold ground, hatred began to burn within his soul. Standing in the doorway was the source of his greatest malice, the reason that he often loathed his return to Hogwarts.

The piercing gaze of blue met that of green, and each boy stared malevolently at the other. In a swift motion, he made to cap and conceal his precious blade, but his hand did move quickly enough. The eyes of the enemy widened in tainted surprise, as though this was something completely unexpected.

"Get out."

His words were steeped in anger, which was matched only by the other's curiosity. The snake and the lion were on edge, waiting to strike, should the other lunge. But that did not come. His eyes bored into the invader's mind, wordlessly expressing the years of rage and confusion and sorrow that he had endured. For one of few times, his enemy was struck dumb, though not for long.

"Sorry."

Was that sympathy, or perhaps empathy, in his voice? The bleeding boy stood, his venomous gaze never wavering, and strode purposefully to his enemy. They would never see eye to eye, no matter their positions in this seemingly fruitless war.

"I doubt that." His face contorted into an ugly sneer as his mangled arm rose to eye level. "I swear, if you mention this day, I'll have your fucking head."

But a mere nod indicated the other's agreement.

And without warning, he suddenly thrust his arm forward and then pulled it back, leaving a crimson smear on the enemy's slightly flushed cheek. A need to dominate and cause pain surged through his veins, and pushed the boy to his knees, his own arm held before his enemy's face.

"Take my blood. Feel the hatred, the suffering that you have brought about."

The boy hesitated, his eyes wide with horror.

"No!" The voice was a soft whisper, for he was unable to lash out at his hurting rival.

His fingers sank into the carefully smoothed hair of his rival, pulling his face closer to his arm.

"For so long, I have let you assume the role as the bane of my existence, but tonight, I shall become yours. Now, do as I say or else find my blade pressed to your skin!"

An uncharacteristic whimper passed the lips of the seized boy, and he reluctantly put his lips to the bleeding wound. Blood passed from the carved 'hate' and into his mouth, staining his tongue and burning his senses. But he did not waver; instead he continued until his captor wrenched his arm away.

"Enough." His eyes blazed with a fury that had not been felt for several months. It was time for someone to feel his wrath, to truly know what he had been experiencing. He pulled the blade from his pocket and swiftly uncapped it. The silver metal gleamed, reflecting ominously in the glassy, fearful eyes of the kneeling boy.

He toyed with the knife-like razor, again tracing minor patterns on his flesh. For a moment, he looked as though he was going to cut himself again, but then he extended the handle to his enemy.

"Take the blade and cut into your arm. Anything you like."

The boy went limp and his hands sought to support his weight, but their efforts were in vain. He fell on his chest, and his cheek smacked against the cold stone. His captor swore loudly.

"You git. If you won't do it, then I shall. Hold out your arm!"

When the prostrate boy did not comply, he let out a roar of fury and seized the nearest wrist. He pushed back the sleeve of his robes and immediately pressed the blade to the warm flesh. Instead of carving, he merely cut the boy. A ragged, scarlet line now ran the length of the right arm, which he promptly flung away when he was done.

He sent the blade clattering to the stone floor. He knew that he could not keep it, for he would be compelled to do further damage to his rival, should the blade remain in his hand. Then, he fell to his knee and picked up the injured arm, bringing it to his face. He stared at it for a moment, then brought it to his mouth.

He sucked lightly on the skin, tasting the tangy, bittersweet flavor of his vital fluid. He ran his tongue along the length of the cut, collecting the blood in his mouth. He did not cease until blood no longer flowed from the wound and only an angry red stripe marred the creamy flesh.

The fallen boy looked to his aggressor, a new sort of surprise shining in his eyes. He rose and propped himself up with his free arm, his gaze never faltering. What had just happened?

The animosity suddenly melted, leaving lust in its wake. They were no longer enemies, at least this night; this experience left them yearning for the other's body, despite their differences and history.

The aggressor seized his captive's hair again, this time pulling him into a fiery kiss. Whatever tension had remained took flight as the two boys embraced.

Robes were quickly shed, and before long, they lay, entwined, in their bareness. The discarded robes became their blankets, shielding their heated bodies from the castle's chilled floor. Their hands were wrapped firmly in each other's hair, or else roaming absently, exploring the naked wonders of their bodies.

There was an understanding between the two, something that had never been before. Perhaps this is what was needed to bring their forces together, to finally end this war.

But if it was this easy, why hadn't it come to pass earlier?

The blonde one reached across the boy beneath him and seized the blade, which lay nearby. He brandished it at the dark-haired one, allowing sufficient time for him to eye it before throwing it aside. It was an unspoken promise that the wretched thing would never touch either of their bodies again.

And they fell into it again, seemingly fused at the lips. The captive suddenly turned into the aggressor, rubbing himself deftly against his momentary lover.

It was then that he, the cutter, pushed away. He couldn't follow through with it. His eyes met with the boy as he scrambled to put some distance between them. His voice, once so powerful and angry, was reduced to but a hoarse whisper.

"We can't do this."

The other boy's face flushed even more than it already was, but he nodded slightly.

"I suppose..."

They stared at each other in silence, each trying to pick the other's brain. What was the best course of action?

Simultaneously, they seized each other. They couldn't just leave things up in the air like that. He needed a sense of fulfillment, which would only come if they went ahead. The other was willing to provide that fulfillment, regardless of the past.

He let the other take control, for he was so inexperienced with this intimacy bit. Those cool hands wandered over his body, stroking him tenderly in all the right places. His lips pressed to the boy, breathing heavily against his neck.

They continued to lie there, fondling and kissing, until the cutter put his hands to the victim's chest and parted their bodies. His eyes burned with an unseen passion; he captured his newfound lover's lips one last time, then murmured softly in his ear.

"It's time."

The victim nodded and moved, his now-stringy locks falling into his eyes, which the cutter pushed back. The lover flipped his companion over and laid his body atop the other. He nibbled and sucked at the warm flesh of his paramour's neck, whispering soothingly to relax him.

At long last, the storm of the cutter was calmed. He felt the lover slide gently into his untried orifice. They were one.

The sensual sounds of their lovemaking were absorbed by the walls, which would never betray their lusty secrets. They were safe from the unforgiving, intolerant world.

The lover steadily pressed on, wrapping his wounded arm around the cutter's waist to continuing the stroking. A tender moan escaped the rubied lips of his companion. His hand flew to the lover, gently caressing his cheek.

Release was imminent. The motions of the lover's hand quickened, so that he could share his climax with the cutter. It was, finally, the touch of the forbidden's hand that sent him over the edge. He felt his body tighten, then slacken as his orgasm took over and eventually subsided.

The cutter let out a virile cry as his own climax hit; the cry was quickly reduced to a series of groans as his arms gave way. The pair fell together, and after they landed, they rolled so that they were lying on their sides.

Who ever would have imagined that the lion and the snake would have succumbed to such lust and passion? Certainly not the prying eyes that silently, inadvertently stumbled in and watched. The third's lips trembled wordlessly, tempted to break the reticence and confront the wearied lovers.

But there was no need. The raven-haired had already spotted her. He sat upright, which caused the blonde to mimic him. Together, their eyes pleaded with the chestnut-eyed Gryffindor.

"Hermione..."

She gaped, unable to speak a word. The unclothed boys glanced at each other, believing that their one night of passion would suddenly be known to the world.

But she was not like that. She shook her head lightly and averted her eyes.

"Never in my life...but if it's what you want..."

She looked at her friend, a torrid blush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. The lion knew that he could trust his lioness; she would not expose their secret.

Without another word, she turned and walked out, leaving them to their own devices. The blonde gazed at his bedmate, his icy blue eyes shining with unexpected delight. Equally, the verdant eyes of the lion glowed. He spoke quietly to the redeemed snake.

"Tonight, I would have done something drastic...but there you were."


	2. To Be Loved

**Disclaimer:** This one, except for characters, is mine. I actually began to write a letter quite similar to this one in my english class one day. It was purely random...just me expressing how I felt about someone. And believe it or not, virtually all that is written here is how I was feeling thatone day. I just made it work for this particular series. Well, enjoy. And don't forget to review!

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"**To Be Loved"**

I have never known what it is to be loved. Admired, sure. Feared, probably. Hated, without a doubt. I've been adored, loathed, revered, clung to, detested, taken care of...but loved? I'm afraid not.

Is it the tickle on your cheek as that one breathes so sweetly on your face while gently whispering to you? I have never known that. I can only dream of it. Is it the tingling sensation you feel when he's trailed a dozen feather-light kisses across your skin? Perhaps the tender caress of his eyelashes against your neck when he closes his eyes as he nestles on your shoulder. Oh how sweet it sounds.

Is it the smoldering look you receive every time you see that one? The melt-me-like-butter stares? The fleeting glances when you know you should be doing something else? The daily distractions, the fact that you can't get him out of your head? It's that, and more.

Love is when you get a flutter in the pit of your stomach every time he walks by. It's when you share those tender but passionate looks, those accidental but scorching touches. The moments when you catch each other's eye and hold it, unable to look away. That is love.

When you can talk so freely, even if you know you're being trivial. When you can laugh and joke, just because you can. When you feel like you could conquer the world just because he's there. When your heart is at ease...yes, that is love.

And how can I define love? It's not because I have been loved, it is because I know how to love—a forbidden love, the most tempting and most equally aggravating kind of love. It is exciting to want the forbidden and yet so galling when you finally realize you'll never have him.

For so long I've watched him now, lusting, needing, wanting. For so long now, he's been around. Too long, I sometimes think. For so long I have longed to take him in my arms, to let him know that he is truly loved. I can see that he needs the solace of another's touch, that his friends can do nothing about it. They don't know what I know.

It would be nothing short of heaven to know my love does not go unrequited...yet each day passes without a word from him. I merely exist, barely as a friend, if even that. He doesn't see in me what I see in him. He can't see that I yearn for him, thus my fantasies of being swept away dissipate into nothing. Reality is such a bitch.

Why is it that we always want what we cannot have? It is our curse, my curse, to lust for the taboo. It did not begin with me, and nor shall it end here. We are all blighted by this fate. At one point in his or her life, every single person to walk this earth will know what it's like. They will want the forbidden fruit. They will want what they can't have and it will hurt.

But why do we do it? Are we so subconsciously masochistic that we cause ourselves such pain? Do we torture ourselves for some unfounded crime we have previously committed? At times, I'm tempted to think so. We feel the pain, yet we always come back for more. We live in a sick, sick world. We are sick, sick people.

Oh, I would love to know the feel of his arms wrapped tight 'round my waist, to better know that haunting, lingering smell of him...to know the taste of his lips on mine...to see the passion in his dark green eyes...to hear the sound of his voice as it drops to that sensual note...to know him at all, beyond what I daily see with my obsessive eye. Just to know him, oh that would be sweet.

I wish I could foresee a happy ending to my tale. I would love to tell you that everything will be all right, that he'll love me. I can envision it in my twisted mind, I can see it all...

The two of us, married...lovers... whatever the case, us together. We would find a way to have a child, a sweet child. Nothing like myself when I was young, nor like him. This one would be free. Completely free. I would love to see the effect of his eyes—his mother's eyes—framed so delicately by my blonde hair. Beautiful.

But it will never be. My fantasy will remain a fantasy, never heard until this is found. My requiem of a love lost, of a love never found.

Let these words forever stand tribute of my unheard plea—a desperate letter of love and the fear of love. I'd have told them, but at least they'll finally know, even if it is when I am no more. I do so hate to leave him this way because I have so feared him abandoning me, but it is better this way. There is no shame of rejection...only bittersweet sorrow that they were all too late. That he was too late. That I was too late.

But he'll move on, he'll find someone. He will know what I have never known, and for that I am glad. I'll watch him from my perch, wherever it may rest, and I'll personally see to it. He deserves so much more. He deserves what I will never have, what I have never known. And he'll get it.

I have never known what it is to be loved.


End file.
